LOREN
As Oliver reached for Loren, he didn’t move out of the way. He simply let the other man take his hand, though the summoner didn’t really respond, neither verbally or physically. No words, no squeeze in response, nothing.
However, as Oliver kept speaking, the Launceleyn sighed. ”I’m not really cut out to be anyone’s friend, any more than I am equipped to make a new family.” There wasn’t sorrow or pain or anger behind those statements, just a weary acceptance and resignation.
His eyes flicked to the painting he'd made, if it could even be called that. There was a sort of savage and primitive beauty to it, the slashes of vibrant color all centered around a black pawprint that drew the eye in. "I'm not hungry. And what more needs to be done with the painting?"
However, as Oliver kept speaking, the Launceleyn sighed. ”I’m not really cut out to be anyone’s friend, any more than I am equipped to make a new family.” There wasn’t sorrow or pain or anger behind those statements, just a weary acceptance and resignation.
His eyes flicked to the painting he'd made, if it could even be called that. There was a sort of savage and primitive beauty to it, the slashes of vibrant color all centered around a black pawprint that drew the eye in. "I'm not hungry. And what more needs to be done with the painting?"
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
